


The New Students

by ShadowedSword13



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: BAMF Black Star, BAMF Maka Albarn, Childhood Trauma, Dr. Stein's Questionable Teaching, F/M, Falling In Love, Five Years Later, Following OC's through school, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Crona (Soul Eater), He's kinda busy teaching, Idiots in Love, Kinda, Multi, Music, Music Confessions, Next Generation, Not heavy, Now it's Soul's Questionable Teaching Practices, Partners to Lovers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Soul and Maka are basically just teacher-relationship goals, Soul hasn't proposed yet., We're not dealing with Kishin anymore, he's getting there, is that a demon?, mentioned - Freeform, pinning, they're teachers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27622411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowedSword13/pseuds/ShadowedSword13
Summary: Five years after the defeat of the Kishin, and a graduation later,Maka and Soul become the generation to teach the next.This story will follow those students, and there's struggle to just make it through freshman year in general.Especially when more than one of them has a dark history that's eager to come back and haunt them.
Relationships: Black Star/Nakatsukasa Tsubaki, Maka Albarn & Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	1. Looking Forward To More

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a re-write of something I posted on FFN quite a while ago.  
> I wouldn't recommend reading the other, unless you'd like to read how bad it was in comparison.  
> I thought I'd give this a rewrite and see if I couldn't clean it up. It deserved to be written better.

**Chapter 1**

**New Students**

“Corey!” He hears his roommate/meister bark through the door, but with the pillow being just _so damn soft_ , it was hard to really think about anything else.

“Get up!” His door shook, creaking in its frame as she no doubt slams her fist into it. He grits his teeth, hearing the wood strain, echoing the noise of her knuckles.

She knew he hated that.

He grumbles, wincing as he can hear her retreating footsteps, the creak of the boards, the whine of his own bed springs as his weight shifts.

Where are his headphones?

He finds them by the faint hum they’re giving off on the nightstand, the charger making sure they’re ready for his endless use. He grabs them, jamming them in and reveling as the rest of the world drowns out.

He can’t hear the sink in the kitchen flick on, or the wind flicker against the windowpane outside. He can’t hear the bedsprings.

He can’t hear anything but his own heart.

And the faint whistle of artillery fire that isn’t there anymore.

He grumbles again, easing out of bed before grabbing the pants from the day before. He yanks them on, stumbling out of his room to find Britney.

She’s cooking, making blueberry pancakes, three already set on a stack to her left. He groans, gaze flicking from her, to the knife in her hand poised and waiting over the plate.

“We’re waiting for the others.” She informs him calmly, eyes never leaving the frying pan where the next pancake was cooking. “Go get dressed.”

As much as he wants a pancake, and as badly as he wants to eat them all to spite Carter and Jericho, he’s not willing to risk a knife through his hand just to do so. Corey turns on his heels, back to his room to pull a black T-shirt on and shove his feet into socks and shoes.

He’s back in the room when the door opens, their two friends spilling into the room. Carter slides across the room, always the devishly quick one as he puts one hand on Britney’s hip, distracting her just long enough for his other hand to slip past her, snatching a pancake off the top of the plate.

Jericho scowls, no doubt wanting to do that himself. But now Britney is on guard, eyebrows furrowed as she swings at Carter.

Corey snorts, watching with amusement as Carter deflects it, arm shifting into blade just before the knife hits it. Britney doesn’t seem phased, flipping the knife around and sliding it back into the block.

“Keep your dirty hands to yourself thief.” She growls, but the threat has no bite, only the familiar banter that anyone who can put up with Carter falls into.

And true to form, Carter laughs, tearing the pancake in two before taking a bite. “Now where’s the fun in that, Strawberry?” And he saunters back to the table, glancing at Corey with a look.

He almost doesn’t see it.

But he hears it.

In the fractions of seconds between the blade forming and the air cleaving in two, he hears the shift of molecules, the spark as Carter’s soul shifts.

He ducks.

And the blade sprouting from Carter’s shoulder slices through the thin air where his head had been.

Carter hums, making a non-commital noise before taking another bite of his stolen pancake.

“Don’t kill my weapon, or I’m never cooking for you again.” Britney threatens.

Corey huffs, rolls his eyes as the boys gather around the table, and Britney finishes off cooking the next batch. He props himself up on an elbow, sleep tugging at his eyelids as he waits.

And its not that he’s staring at his partner’s ass.

He’s not. He swears it.

_Not that he wouldn’t if he were more awake. He just knows better._

Better because the last guy that tried to grab it ended up walking to the dentist with half his teeth in his palms. He knew better than to tell Britney she looked hot. If he did, there was no telling what his punishment might be. She was wicked when she wanted to be.

“Behave yourselves.” She snarks, setting a plate on the table, drawing him out of his daze.

She is gorgeous though.

He just knows better than to say it.

Or maybe he just knows his type is a bit off from everyone else’s.

He shoves that thought to the side, and instead snatches a pancake off the plate, gaze drifting over to the oven clock.

They have time.

Ish.

School starts at 8. Clock says it’s only 7:15.

He hums, ticking the minutes away in his head. Stairs were a ten minute run. Class was five. Street was three. They had just over twenty minutes.

“So did you two figure out how you want to be paired?” Britney asks, setting down a final plate and finally sliding into her normal chair- across from him.

Corey huffs, rolling his eyes. As if Jericho and Carter could ever decide on anything. He reaches out, pulling three pancakes from the pile as Jericho starts talking.

It’s a rock-salt rasp and a deep seating chuckle ground into one voice, and it’s not unpleasant, but it reminds Corey of dark-lit bars and amber whiskey. And it’s just a bit too odd for a DWMA student to have a voice like that.

“As if.” He snorts, “I’m the better weapon, but Carter just refuses to accept that, and we end up juggling most of the fight.”

“You’re only the better weapon because you refuse to use me right.” Carter growls back, half a pancake flopping in his lips. He slaps a hand on the table. “And every time I use you, we end up burning SOMETHING to cinders. And that doesn’t look good at all!”

Jericho rolls his eyes, dark blue eyes flicking over to Corey’s. “What is it cat eyes?” He snarks. “Got something to say?”

HE cocks an eyebrow. Cat eyes was such an un-cool nickname. He really hopes it doesn’t take.

Sure, it’s accurate, give or take a shade or two, but it’s just such a pain.

“They’re gold, not yellow.” Corey replies, running a hand through his hair. “And I’m not the one that sneezes out flames.” He adds, glaring at Jericho.

“I’m not the one with blue hair.”

“I’m not the-“

“Boys.” Britney interrupts, calmly cutting her pancakes and taking small bites. Her eyes practically spark as they flick between the two. “Behave. Or I’ll throat-punch the both of you.”

Corey huffs, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his chair. He riffles through his pants pocket but doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

“I’ll get the dishes when we get back.” He grumbles, stretching in the chair before getting up, ambling back into his room.

His room is a wreck, but it’s a wreck he’s organized in his own special way. He knows his clean shirts are flung on top of the dresser, and the nasty sweaty ones are shoved in his closet. And the bloody ones always end up in the trash.

And his lifesaving I-Pod is sandwiched underneath the mattress, because it’s the only place he can manage to put it in a half-asleep, but just asleep enough to not hear everything-state.

He flicks it on, hums as he scrolls through the playlists. It’s near endless at this point, but the use is more to drown out the extra noise as opposed to listening to any of it.

And in the mornings.

He listens to something gentle anyways. Mostly background music, piano, bass guitar, maybe something a little funky towards the end with some brass in it.

He shoves the device in his back pocket, meets Britney by the door as she hands him a bookbag.

“Ready?” She asks, smiling at him like she hadn’t had to break up a fight between Carter and Jericho in the time it’d taken him to get his music set.

“As if I’d ever tell you no.” He snarks back with a grin.

Britney hums back as she ushers Carter and Jericho out, both still bantering back and forth. Although, their banter was trying to stab the other. It was all fun and games until someone caught the other, and then it was howls of ‘my-best-friend-is-dying-someone-please-help’ but that was a rare occasion.

And the walk to school, or perhaps run, is something that’s just long enough to make Corey sweat, but just short enough he doesn’t change his playlist to something more rhythmic to keep pace. Carter and Jericho break off, different class schedule he assumes, but he takes Britney’s hand, one eye closed as he navigates the halls more by sound than by sight.

Even other the rising noise of the jazz playing in his ears, he can hear the _thump thump thump_ of her pulse, resonating up from his grip on her wrist. And the _click clack, click clack, click clack_ of some rolling chair down the hall.

He pulls her into their classroom, up a few rows and into seats. It’s not habitual he knows which seats have the best, and worst, acoustics. It’s self-preservation and migraine mitigation.

Case in point.

The ruccous a rolling chair makes when it slams into the doorstop, metal frame screeching along the tile floor as it and it’s owner crash and burn all the way across the auditorium. He winches, reaching into his pocket and clicking the volume up twice.

The owner of the chair sighs, cracks his neck and stands. And-

Corey supposes that he should just assume everyone here will be some form of off. But a giant screw sticking out of a man’s temple just wasn’t in his realm of “weird things to see” today.

Britney taps his elbow. “That’s our teacher. Don’t say a word.”

Pft.

Naturally. What kind of school is he going to?

The man stretches and yawns, righting his chair and plopping back into it with a huff. Cold eyes scan the room, flicking from one person to the next. A soft hum escapes the man’s lips, and then he’s snatching the clipboard off the table, running his fingers over the names, snapping his head back and forth between the two before-

“Roll Call.” He says.

And it’s.

Surprisingly normal from there on out. He rattles off the names, pauses on a few of them, giving one out of three people a weird look, before moving right along. And then he’s launching into a lesson about compatibility and a soul’s natural inborne frequency and wavelength.

It’s a bit much. And Corey’s not even taking notes. Compared to……he glances over as Britney flips the page, eyes focusing on the board while her pen furiously scratches out word after word on the page.

He clicks his music up another notch and switches to something a bit louder. Maybe classic rock for this class? He can’t tell yet.

The bell is what saves them.

And by saves them, he means spares him from a skull-shattering headache. He’s pretty sure he can hear the clicking of Dr. Stein’s screw echoing in his head. He relies on Britney to drag him out the door and down the hall, nursing his headache with something soft and light as she navigates for the both of them.

Its something they’re both used to.

Her after learning of his ears.

Him, after learning he can trust her.

And both of them, after pairing off six years ago and developing as weapon and meister pair.

It’s a good working relationship.

“WELCOME TO COMBAT EDUCATION YOU SMALL LITTLE MORTALS!”

Oh Sweet Death, take his soul now, or the voice from this little man’s throat.

“Black*Star!” A softer female voice chastises, and Corey flinches as he examines the pair.

Blue hair, styled like a star, short and stocky, with more muscle than brain by the looks of it. And he’s grinning from ear to ear.

As opposed to his partner, whose thin and tall like a willow tree, hands folded together in front of her uncertainly.

“What Tsubaki?” The loudmouth’s regular voice is still loud enough Corey wants to install a mute button on him.

“Little quieter.” She encourages with a smile.

“Pft. Fine. Freshman can’t withstand my greatness anyway…” Black*Star looks properly admonished, maybe even miffed as he steps forward.

“Alright. Welcome to your basic’s on weapon handling and training!” Must everything he speaks end with an exclamation point? He can practically hear it.

Britney taps his shoulder again, giving him a sympathetic look. And it’s.

Fine.

She squeezes his arm, a quirk of her lips and a shrug of her shoulder, and he’s fine. Still battling a migraine that’s threatening to split his skull open, but he’ll manage. For her.

Not that he’d ever voice that thought outloud.

“AND-

“Black*Star!”

“And for our demonstration team! We’re having Kishin Hunter Maka Albarn and Soul Eater.”

The newest pair that walks in is….

Opposites, just like the first.

The first girl, woman- he corrects in his head- is just as opposed as Black*Star and Tsubaki. Maybe a hair more tame.

Maka Albarn. He’s heard of her, and whatever her speech is gets lost in his own thoughts. She’s an accomplished meister to say the least. Hell. All of them here are after the Moon battle. He’d been a kid when that happened. And it was still impressive years later.

The only human to battle a legend and live.

Well.

That depends on how you define the others.

Soul Eater lives up to his name, dressed to impress no one but himself in a pair of black joggers and a red T-shirt and a headband taming the white mane he calls hair. Maka on the other hand is dressed proper, white button up, jacket and knee length skirt.

Who wears skirts these days anyway?

“-portant thing is to know how to rebound the resonance.” She finishes, and he’s assuming Britney’s copied notes, because he definitely hasn’t.

Like that was ever a problem for them. He glanced sideways at his partner.

“Now for the demonstration!” Maka held out her hand, and with a huff Soul accepted it. It was. A bit underwhelming watching a Death Scythe transform, it was all the same, a flash of light, a sharpening of the shape, and then it’s rippled out into color. Black shaft, red blade, gold accents.

Maka twirled it, taking a deep breath as she focused.

And the resonance was.

Instant.

A sharp exhale.

“Witch Hunter.”

A grit of her teeth, and she barely even voice it as the blade morphed, coating itself in a sheen of molted white light and the blade shape changed. Shifted from a scythe blade to more of an axe as she swept it around.

And with a smile and a quick spin, the energy shattered and the scythe blade disappeared, leaving her holding just a haft that she twirled behind her back.

“Do we have any volunteers for giving it a shot?” Maka chirped, flashing a smile that her partner did not share.

Corey exchanged a look with his partner.

As if Britney would ever pass up scoring extra-credit points.

He stepped through the crowd of other students, leading her through it as they presented themselves.

“Corey Rhyme and Britney Sinclair.” He introduced, squeezing Britney’s hand twice. A signal.

A shift.

His world changed, melted away as he morphed his 6’1 frame into a 5’ flat sword, thick bladed and heavy. It dropped into Britney’s ready and waiting hands. She hefted it, spun it back up onto her shoulder.

A claymore, pushing the upper limits of that classification, but one that she wielded without qualm or issue.

“You ready?” Britney asked, glancing at the blade.

A ripple across the surface, and Corey flashed her a smile, running a hand through his dark blue hair. “Do I ever tell you no?” He replied.

Their resonance never felt like it was that much effort.

Maybe it was because music always bled through the link. He didn’t need to change the sound or anything for her, and she matched the tune, set the pace and joined into the noise that echoed from his soul.

“Soul-“ a half breath pause as the bass dropped. “Resonance!” She finished.

And the blade fractured, energy pulsing up it, coiling around the edges before wrapping around it, extending the already thick blade another inch or so as she hefted it up and down.

The wavelength shot off the edge, tore through the dirt and grass and ripped clean through the practice area in front of them. And with a single step forward, Britney pulled the blade free whipped it around herself and propped the blade back on her shoulder.

Maka laughed, clapping her hands together as she examined the pair. “I have a feeling you’ll be a very interesting pair to watch.” She smiled.


	2. Profiling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Britney and Corey a solid partner-pair  
> Jericho and Carter are sorted into a separate class in order to be paired up "randomly" with potential partners.  
> And whose pairing them?   
> Someone that's got more than a little experience looking at souls.

Chapter 2

Profiling

June spots him when he walks into class.

For the most part, it’s actually harder not to, at least to her. For some of the other’s, she’s sure he slipped by nearly unnoticed, footsteps quiet compared to the other noisy tromping feet, the way his shifts and walks, holding his body in a way that his clothes don’t snag and grate.

He doesn’t move so much like a soldier as much as he does a killer.

And maybe that just sets her on edge.

One hand snakes around her back, peeling the shirt up just a hair, fingering the knife strapped across her belt lengthwise. And then he looks at her.

Dark eyes that ghost over her before whipping back, locking in place. He smiles, but it’s all teeth and snark, and even from across the classroom she can feel the cockiness the boy projects like a wavelength. She snorts, releasing the knife and returning her hands to the desk.

He was just a punk.

Nothing more.

Probably.

She raked her fingers back through her hair, trying to calm the brunette tangles, get them to lie straight down her back instead of in a tangled heap on her head.

“Attention!” And the door knocked back on it’s hinges, and with a glance at the clock, she confirmed her teacher was right on time.

Well.

Teachers.

The man that meanders through the door looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, and the presumable meister, looks like she’s enthusiastic about today.

“Good morning class!” She chimes, giving a them all a warm smile as she sweeps by her partner. “You’ve all been assigned this class to determine partner compatibility, but based on your raw skills, or skills you’ve shown using temporary partnerships, you’ve scored outside of the NOT class and into the EAT class.” She smiles again.

“That being said.” And her partner’s voice is deep and gruff, smoothed over with some dark somber tune as he leans back against the board. “You have a long way to go before you’re ready to take on everything.”

The woman huffs, swatting her partner’s chest with a soft. “Soul.” As a cautionary huff.

And the white-haired man grins back, revealing jagged pointy teeth. “Maka.” He growls it, low and sultry in a way that makes June wonder if this is really appropriate for a school setting.

Maka doesn’t seem phased by it. And instead claps her hands together. “So, today I’ll be pairing you up based on your souls and we’ll be experimenting with different partnerships! How does that sound?”

A hand raised from the back, and it belongs not to the curiously quiet boy, but the other one that came in with him. He bleeds off heat, and even from her seat across the room, June can see a flicker of indigo flame dancing across his finger tips as he pushes off the desk to stand.

“Yes, Mr…” And Ms. Maka flips through a clipboard of profile her partner so helpfully hands him. “Peront.”

The boy grunts, tilting his head slightly at the recognition. “What if we’re problematic?” He asks, extending a hand.

For a moment she’s not sure what he means. But that question dies in her throat as the flames tickling his fingertips bloom into a bonfire floating in his palm, dark blue flames licking the ceiling before sputtering out. And he returns his hands to his pockets, cracking his neck casually.

The boy beside him, the quiet one, huffs and shakes his head, combing his fingers through his hair and slicking it to the side.

Maka, to her credit, smiles and shrugs. “That will be taken care of. I assure you Mr. Peront. I will find you a matching partner based on your soul wavelength.”

“And she’s damn good at it too.” Her partner growls, and for the first time June notices that he must be an albino. White hair. And if the glimpse of his eyes had been right, a scarlet eye.

And she only knew or heard of one albino weapon meister pair.

Soul Eater and Maka Albarn. 

Pro Meister and Death Scythe.

She let out a low whistle, humming to herself. Who would the best meister the DWMA ever produce pair her up with?

That would be the question.

“Anymore questions?” Maka asks, cocking an eyebrow. And when none are presented, she smiles and starts going through the clipboard.

In that time, Soul steps forward, digging his hands into her pockets with a scowl as he raises his voice. “Once you’re paired up, proceed out the doors to the practice grounds. There’s currently a class out there, under instruction of Black*Star, but he’s allotted you a set of rings to practice and check compatibility. If there is an immediate issue, come back to us and we’ll see what we can do about it.”

And with that cleared up, he steps back, leaning against the door and he let’s his meister work.

At first, it’s silent as she pages through the clipboard, eyes flicking between the paper and the desks before deciding.

“Mr. Jackson and Ms. Chase please?” She calls, and a boy and girl descend, glaring pointedly at each other. “Try partnering up for the week if you please.”

It’s obvious they dislike each other, but the girl that walks like a stormcloud and the boy that reminds her of a lazy ocean creature stalk off, following one another out the door.

The cycle repeats from there, with her calling out names one after the other. It takes a while, and there are frequent pauses as she examines the class mulling over what June assumes are the appearances of their souls, before calling out names.

“Mr. Lance.” She says, and out of all of the names, that catches her attention, likely because of the boy it’s attached to.

**He** stands.

Cool and quiet with barely a scrap of a chair as he eases up from his seat, descending the steps, one eye cocked as he examines their teachers.

“Ms. Young.”

She bristles, pursing her lips as she stands, meeting the gaze of the man whose supposed to be her weapon.

She’d like to rebuke Ms. Albarn’s pairing, but no one else has come back, and even if the initial feel of the man put her on edge, first appearances weren’t always everything.

She descends the stairs, shoving her hands into her jean pockets as she reexamines the man.

He’s lean limbs and hard edges, lanky and sharp. Lean muscle and scars on his hands, like he’s been in more fights than he’d ever admit.

So, a punk.

Through and through she decides.

“Carter.” He introduces, holding out his right hand, and instead of taking it, she lets her eyes trail up the arm.

A dozen scars twist around it, spiraling across his flesh, in short spurts, like a knife fight. He doesn’t flinch under her gaze, and instead keeps the hand extended uncaring of her gaze.

She peels her eyes off the scarred forearm, up the bicep to the chest and up to his face.

Mossy green eyes, accented to look like mischief given corporal form when paired with the smirk that’s settled on the man’s lips. He clicks his tongue, meeting her gaze without fear.

Still, neither of them speak.

“Do you accept this pairing?” Ms. Albarn asks tentatively.

It’s Carter that speaks first, shrugging his shoulders and humming. “I’ll see if she can keep up.” He replies, withdrawing his hand and shoving them in his pockets.

And he stalks out the door, but that comment.

That comment makes June’s blood boil as she chases after him, snarling.

“Keep up?” She barks. “Oh buddy!” And she grabs his shoulder, whirling him around. “Don’t even-!”

And he surprises her, because all she catches is a flicker of his mossy green eyes before he vanishes.

She feels him though. Tumbling through the air over her head in his weapon form, before he’s behind her, boots thumping softly on the tile behind her.

She whirls, just as his hand reaches out. She grabs it by the wrist, and for a moment they lock. A standstill for a moment before her training takes over, and she twists, rolling around his arm and bracing it.

He yelps as she pulls the arm, her other hand cupping his elbow as she twists it, and he drops to his knees as she locks his arm out, pushing it back into the socket.

And she stops, holding his arm behind his back and just a bit up. The expression on his face is tight, but his lips slide into a grin.

And he laughs, a light chuckles of amusement instead of pain or something twisted.

He glances back at her, mossy green eyes alight with amusement. “Oh, you can keep up alright.” He laughs again, smiling and shaking his head.

And he transforms again, funneling into her hand instead of out of it.

And as his form compacts, twists together, she finds that he’s exactly what she thought he’d be.

Well.

Give or take.

He’s a heavy bladed knife. Thick with a leather ringed grip, but it’s beefy and strong in her hands. It’s also bigger than she thought it’d be.

Something in between a machete and a knife.

“What are you?” She muses, flipping the weapon one way and then the other. Maybe more of a short sword.

The front blade is smooth, razor sharp, the waves of steel along the blade reminding her of the rippling waves of an untamed sea. And the back.

Saw-toothed and functional. But the blade as a whole is heavy, thick enough to cut, saw, chop, stab.

“Seax.” Carter hums back, “Or Saxe to some. Sea-axe.” His expression flashes through the blade.

She hefts the blade feeling the balance, the heft, the feel.

It’s like a short sword. Deadly.

Sharp.

She feels the motion before she thinks about it, but Carter doesn’t seem to have any complaints as she spins the weapon around her wrist, the leather grip slapping into the palms of her hand before she lets it go again, feels the weight slide around her wrist before it slaps again into her palm.

“You know what.” She decides. “I think I might like this.”

Carter laughs from the blade, smiling. “Oh, just wait until we really get started.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked it.  
> This will be pretty heavily focused on the original characters, so if you were looking for additional fluff for the OG characters. Sorry. Not this story.  
> If you read the other version on FFN (not recommended just because I did a crap job with it) then the story line will follow pretty closely. Just more detail and depth and less... near-crack writing.


End file.
